19. Chapter 19
Isla followed as Vaelin led the way across the empty town streets, the eerie quiet sending a curl of unease writhing through her.
As she walked, her tunic shifted over the dressings on her shoulders.
She felt only a dull ache now, soothed by the effects of the calendula.
She thought again of the gentle brush of Vaelin’s thumb over the base of her neck, trailing a line of fire in its wake.
She shivered again, forcing the thoughts away.
Vaelin halted before a small stone cottage, its eaves and walls drenched in ivy.
The door swung open moments after his knock, revealing an older woman wearing a healer’s apron, her grey hair tied back in a simple knot.
The lines across her face deepened as she smiled at Vaelin, not quite masking her surprise.
“You’re back, Sir,” she stated warmly.
Vaelin waved a hand dismissively, “Mara, please, just Vaelin,” he gestured to Isla at his side, “This is one of the healers from Rowanmere. We’d like to speak with you about the illness again, if you’re willing.”
Isla reached a hand out, introducing herself with a smile.
Mara returned it warmly, waving them inside, “Of course. Please, come in.”
Isla thanked her, stepping over the threshold and into the cottage.
Her chest warmed as her eyes drifted over the rows of herbs, bundled and hung to dry by the kitchen window.
Another woman - younger than Mara - stood at the counter, her dark brown hair woven into a braid that hung down her back.
Her back was turned to them as they entered, an apron tied around her waist as well as she dried glass jars and lined them up along the kitchen counter.
Isla breathed in the herbal scent that wove through the cottage.
“So,” Mara began, “What brings you back to Brackenford? Was there something Carin neglected to tell you?”
“No, I heard much the same in Rowanmere,” Vaelin began, breaking off as the sound of breaking glass crashed through the room.
Carin stood by the counter, having turned around abruptly at the sound of Vaelin’s voice.
She stood clutching the tea towel, her face flaming red.
At her feet lay the shattered remains of a jar.
Mara frowned, muttering something about clumsiness under her breath as she reached for a nearby broom. But Carin seemed not to hear, or was otherwise unable to react, staring wide-eyed at Vaelin. “Y-you’re back,” she said, voice breathy.
Vaelin inclined his head politely. Isla’s eyebrows climbed slightly, eyes flicking between the two.
Carin looked like she’d been frozen to the spot.
Only a few years older than Isla, her brown eyes matched the shade of her hair exactly, the wispy tendrils that had escaped her braid framing her pretty face.
“My name is Isla - I’m a healer in Rowanmere. We’ve been experiencing the same illness as you, and I was hoping I might hear how you’ve been managing it.”
She had addressed both healers, looking from Mara to Carin, but the latter seemed unable to drag her eyes away from Vaelin, her eyes wide and lips parted in a perfect circle. Isla fought the urge to roll her eyes. She would never understand some humans’ fascination with the fae.
“It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen,” Mara replied soberly, and Isla turned her attention to the matriarch. “In all my years of healing, I’ve never dealt with something that presents so much like a common influenza, but resists all known treatment.”
Isla’s brows pinched, nodding her agreement. “That’s been our experience as well. How many in town have been affected, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, I think… nearly three quarters at this point, wouldn’t you say, Carin?”
Carin startled, her eyes snapping to the older healer. “What?”
“How many in town have come down with the illness?” Mara repeated, dryly. Isla pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to smile.
Carin looked back to Vaelin, as though it had been him who had asked the question, “Oh,” she said, “Most of the town by now.”
“That would explain why it’s so much quieter compared to a few days ago,” Vaelin said.
Carin nodded, fiddling with the end of her braid, “Yes, most are staying indoors so they don’t…” she seemed to lose her train of thought, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“So they aren’t exposed?” Isla pressed. Gods.
“Right,” Carin answered, glancing at Isla briefly, before looking back to Vaelin. “People weren’t as concerned about it before, but now…”
“We’ve had several deaths,” Mara finished for her, voice grave. “Including one child, unfortunately.”
Isla went ashen, her stomach plummeting as Neve’s face rose in her mind’s eye. She pressed a flat hand to her stomach, as if to quell the visceral response.
“Once the deaths began, people began to seclude themselves more,” Mara continued. “We aren’t sure how it spreads, so we didn’t advise anyone otherwise.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help,” Carin said sadly.
Isla nodded mutely as an image of the freshly dug graves she and Vaelin had passed as they’d entered the town rose in her mind. She shivered, as though a chill had settled deep into her bones. Besides her, Vaelin shifted slightly, their elbows nearly brushing.
“What have you tried?” Isla asked. “I’ve had some luck with goldenroot and willowbark tea. It isn’t a cure, but it can help to minimize some of the symptoms - the inflammation, the cough.”
Mara tilted her head thoughtfully, “I hadn’t thought of the willowbark. We’ve been relying on a mixture of honeyed mint tea for soothing inflamed throats.”
Isla nodded, “The willowbark does have a bit of an aftertaste, but it’s easily masked by sage or mint - any strong herb, really. Its effects are stronger than the honey, if less palatable.”
“Hmmm,” Mara mused, and Carin asked, now looking at Isla with interest. “And the goldenroot? Also… steeped as a tea? For the fever?”
Isla nodded. “It can be steeped or made into a topical dressing, which might work better for children as the taste isn’t as easily masked.” Her eyebrows lifted, “Speaking of topicals, there is a great salve that can be made with mint to aid with clearing congestion. I can show you, if you’d like?”
Carin and Mara nodded, and Isla smiled.
Vaelin watched as a smile lit up Isla’s face, revealing the faintest of lines at the corners of her eyes and all but erasing the purple shadows beneath that betrayed her fatigue. It was the first time he’d seen her truly smile, and her features were transformed by it.
She moved eagerly toward Carin, who had turned her attention to Isla, much to Vaelin’s relief. He stepped back, leaning against the wall where he would be out of the way.
“The plants wilted so early this year,” Carin noted, running her fingers over the herbs that dangled over the kitchen sink, “We have almost no sage left.”
Isla’s smile slipped a bit. “It’s the same in Rowanmere - many of the herbs have gone dormant early, even though the temperature seems to be climbing rather than dropping.
” A determined look settled on to her face, “We can make do with mint, which you seem to have a lot of.” She motioned to three of the six hanging bundles.
“Ah, a hardy plant, even in difficult weather,” Mara agreed. “I’ll check our pantry to see if we’ve any goldenroot on hand.”
Vaelin watched quietly as Isla stepped the women through the process of creating the salve.
She demonstrated infusing warmed olive oil with mint leaves, recommending they leave it to sit for an hour or so.
Afterward, they should combine the infused oil with melted beeswax for easier spreading.
All the while, he watched as her eyes seemed to come alive with purpose.
Her passion for her craft came through so clearly, and he felt his lips curve ever so slightly, as though her happiness was contagious.
“So, where are you off to next?" he dragged his eyes away from Isla to meet Mara’s gaze as she continued, "I imagine your search will not end here?“
He nodded. "We're resting here for the evening before continuing on to the Pass, then through to Dunovar. We’re hoping the Scholars have historical accounts of a similar illness - something that could inform a cure."
The healer's eyes had widened at the mention of Dunovar. Inwardly, he grimaced. Evidently he wasn't the only one who knew how difficult that journey would be.
"Well, it's a good thought," she mused, watching Isla and Carin work across the room. The lines across her forehead had deepened, emphasizing her concern. "If anyone has answers it would be them.”
"We'll be sure to send word if they have anything of import to tell us." he assured her, his brow knitting. “I’m sorry for your losses. We've... had our own losses among the fae. A friend of mine is a healer. I know how hard she takes the loss of a patient.”
Mara smiled at him sadly, "Thank you. I do appreciate that." She turned her attention to the other women. "We've no goldenroot in the pantry, but I believe I saw some growing in the clearing near the main trail."
Carin wiped her hands on her apron. "I can run out to gather some." Her eyes scanned the ingredients she and Isla had been preparing, as though cataloguing how much work there was left to be done.
Isla had noticed the response as well. "I'll go," she offered. "You stay. The mint oil will need time to fully infuse, anyway."
Vaelin moved smoothly off of the wall, nodding at the healers as he followed Isla out the door. Mara returned his smile, as did Carin, flushing a brilliant shade of scarlet.
He followed Isla into the warm summer air that blew through the village streets. The sun had sunk lower in the sky as the day waned, colouring what little he could see of the clouds varying shades of orange and pink.
He touched her elbow lightly and she turned, the wind pulling strands of hair from its knot. His hand twitched at his side as he tamped down on the urge to brush one out of her face.
"I'm going to head back to the room. I'll see you when you're finished here."
Her eyebrows lifted, even as the hint of a smile curved the edges of her lips. “What, no lecture about me needing to rest?”
“Would it do any good?”
“No,” she smirked, and Vaelin felt his own lips curve in echo. His gaze snagged on her eyes, the fatigue still there, but buried now beneath an energy he hadn’t seen in her in days.
“You’re talented.”
Her lips parted, surprise rippling across her expression, and he realized he’d spoken out loud.
“At your craft,” he clarified, lamely. “Not just your botanical knowledge but… at making others feel at ease. Your affinity for healing, your passion for it… it’s admirable.”
A flush so slight he might have imagined it rose to her cheekbones. Her lips parted as if she might respond, and a shriek sliced through the air.